Iridescent
by Miranda le Ginger
Summary: The passage of time does not heal all wounds. Helena Harper relives those memories that brought her love...and then obliterated it. PiersXHelena; other couples present. Not entirely canon; original dialogue.


Author's note: I have liked the Resident Evil series for awhile, but here recently I really started to get into the lore and games even more so than before. After watching RE 6 videos with my brother, he asked me to write him a Resident Evil story. Well, I did him one better than that: I am going to write an entire story over it, not just a one-shot. I apologize in advance for any mistakes made; I have never actually played RE 6, so if there are any discrepancies I am sorry. Also, this story is not entirely canon. Most of the dialogue and even some of the actual story were my incorporation. So do not expect a regurgitation of the game. Thank you all and happy reading!

Disclaimer: I do **not** own Resident Evil or any of the characters. Capcom is the lovely brain-master. I am just taking them out on a not so joyous ride in a zombie-infested world. Nor am I profiting on this piece of work.

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"_No matter how far we travel, memories will follow in the baggage car." –August Strindberg_

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The door clicked softly behind her as Helena Harper walked into her apartment. Exhausted, Helena dropped her bag on the couch, not bothering to put it in the designated place she had made for it. Instead, the brunette made her way to the kitchen, gathering up supplies for her good friend, Mr. Folgers. Dexterous hands made themselves useful, following the ancient routine of coffee brewing. The expensive coffee maker whirled to life, pouring the rich brown liquid into the pot underneath. Helena's nose was assaulted by the aromatic smells coming from the pot, and she was eager for it to be done so the "liquid of life" could assail her palate instead.

She sighed as her body leaned against the granite counter her money was ample enough to purchase. Shoulders sagged as hands tiredly rubbed bloodshot eyes. Her latest mission had been brutal; as a Secret Service agent, she was used to fast-paced action, long days with little to no sleep, and more than likely blood to be spilled. But this particular mission had struck a nerve with her and she had been running herself ragged for weeks. A former BSAA agent had gone rogue, and had leaked vital information to the public about not only Raccoon City, but the events that happened at Tall Oaks, a year prior. The people of America had been furious, and outcries had poured in droves. The government had been scrambling to hush the man up, but the damage had been done. Things were not going very well, and Helena was understandably tense. The chase for the rogue had been intense; although there was no stopping the flow of the devastating information, the government wanted the former agent to pay. When, or if, they caught him, he would be in a proverbial pile of shit. They would make sure he never saw the light of day again.

Helena finished up the coffee, pouring a cup of the scalding drink into her favorite mug. It had been a gift from Deborah, many years ago. Helena flinched at the wave of bittersweet memories thinking about her sister caused. She forced down her well of emotions, her face automatically forming into a façade of emotionless. It had been a necessary defense after everything that happened last year; the old Helena was gone, replaced by the cold, calculating one of today. She still cared about others and did her best to aid any who was of need, but she was also capable of making those difficult decisions. Most of her coworkers did not know if she was callous or not, and she never bothered to set them straight. Her thoughts went back to the rogue agent still on the run. Her division had gotten some leads, which were currently being followed through. The brunette had wanted to be a part of the mission, but was denied by her superiors.

_Rest_, they said. _If anything comes to fruition, you will be the first we contact._ Then with a pat on the head and a bump on the rear, she was sent home. Helena had, admittedly, been entirely displeased by the events. She wanted to be a central part of the action, not a call away. But, she conceded that she indeed would not be good for anyone as tired as she was. So here she was, standing in her kitchen at her little apartment in Washington, D.C, alone with no company except a single little cup containing coffee. Another sigh escaped her mouth, caramel eyes closing in frustration. How she hated that agent right now…truthfully she had never personally dealt with the man, but the information he had leaked or, more importantly, the memories the leak had brought up made Daniel Swift her most reviled enemy. She did feel more than a smidgeon of sympathy for Swift's family though. Rebecca Swift and her two little boys, Gavin and Hayden, had been hounded by the press after their provider decided to betray his government and say a big ol' "fuck you!" to his organization and let out the truth of both raccoon City and Tall Oaks. If the government had been given the chance to explain…maybe all this outpour of hate and anger would have been smaller. Instead, the self-righteous bigot decided to take matters into his own hands. Now they would be lucky if a war did not start, and on home turf too.

Last she'd heard, the captain of the BSAA was completely outraged at one of his men's impudence and disregard of secrecy in the same of preservation and order. Chris Redfield had devoted his life to counteracting against bioterrorism, and because of one man's idiocy he may well be ruined. What was worse, the BSAA was being heavily scrutinized. Questions were being flown around whether or not this would have happened had Chris paid more attention to his men. Of course Helena knew Chris would never do anything like the accusations hinted at, but of course with all the emotions running high, her own words fell on deaf ears. Their mutual friend, agent Leon Kennedy, had also tried to help but was shunned himself. Leon, Chris's long-standing partner and girlfriend Jill Valentine, DSO agent Sherry Birkin and her boyfriend Jake Muller, former mercenary turned BSAA agent, were al being scrutinized for their involvement in past bioterrorism instances. She herself was lucky enough to have stayed out of the media, but she knew it was only a matter of time before she was targeted as well. BSAA SOA operative Sheva Alomar had just been outed herself as having been one of the main players alongside Chris at the incident of Kijuju. Chris had done his best to keep Sheva out of it, but Swift had made sure Americans knew she was in fact involved.

Many BSAA agents had been given up by Swift, and worry was rising that those agents would be targeted by enraged citizens seeking their own brand of justice. Many of the BSAA had been thrust into protective service sand carted off to safe locations. Helena dreaded for the time when she herself would have to flee. She took a long pull from her mug, the coffee scalding her throat as it slithered down to her stomach, warming her very core. Helena walked to her living room, standing with one hand cocked on her hip, the other cradling the mug. She took in her apartment, looking at the familiar surroundings that had cocooned her for the last ten months. This place had become her home, her refuge, and she was loathe to ever part with it. Her heels made audible clicks as she sauntered over to the coffee table in front of her leather couch, dropping her mug reverently to the wooden surface. Helena hoisted her discarded bag over her shoulder, the tired muscles screaming in slight protest. Grunting, she carried it to her bedroom. Flicking on the light, her eyes became adjusted to the yellow brightness that chased away the former darkness. _If only there was a similar switch in her chest_…

The bag was plunked down onto the ground and pushed against the wall. The SS agent meandered over to her bed, unbuttoning her vest easily and swiftly. Her royal blue button-up shirt soon followed and the two garments were flung unceremoniously into the laundry hamper across the room. Standing in her bra, the topless woman made her way over to the vanity leaning up against her far wall. Helena opened up the mirror, taking in her reflection before her. Her stomach was toned from years of hard work, and a few scars littered her torso and chest from her escapades of both last year and in the months following. She fingered a particular scar the cut a swathe across her abs, drawing a jagged line over those firm muscles. It was puckered and a pale pink color, thin at the ends and pushing outwards into a thick mass of newly grown flesh. Helena absentmindedly smoothed her hand over the slight imperfection, the mark a stark contrast against her tan skin tone. Her feathery brown waves cascaded over her bared shoulders, having grown several inches since Tall Oaks. Her face had lost some of its roundness as well, leaving behind high cheekbones and full fuchsia lips. Many of her friends and coworkers had jokingly referred to her as 'Lara Croft' because her new appearance greatly resembled the fictional archeologist. Helena felt bad for the pixilated hero; if she shared any qualities with her, Croft must have had a shitty life indeed. Lord knows her own list of regrets were a mile high.

Helena looked away, unable to bear the sight of herself any longer. Her gaze fell on the two pictures that held dominance over her little bedside table. For what was probably the millionth time, Helena walked over to the miniscule table, hefting up one of the gilded-framed pictures. The one currently in her hand was of a beautiful young woman, smiling up at the camera with intelligent mocha eyes. Her face was open and carefree, full of the naivety of youth. Deborah…her sister. It was the only picture of her she had left. The rest…she had torn up and burned in a fit of grief and rage one night a month after Deborah's death. The elder Harper had gotten drunk and the memories of the last time she had seen her sister, grotesque and snarling at her she desperately tried to hold on, had proven to be too much. Eager to escape the pain, she had destroyed every last memento of her sister when she was alive and well, all except this one. Helena had been disgusted with herself the next morning when she saw the remains of those pictures…they had been the last link to her sister. Helena guarded this photo as if it were gold, making sure not even dust could takeaway the beauty the still held.

Hands gently placed the frame back down in the rightful spot, moving on to the only other one on the table and the only other picture in her house that she let be displayed. This frame was a simple black, fitting to the simplicity of the man the solid frame held so preciously. She had chosen a nice thick frame to symbolize the strength he held both in his daily life and in his beliefs. The man in the photo was tall and broad-shouldered, muscles bulging underneath the sky blue and yellow plaid button-up shirt he was wearing. Faded, white-washed jeans fit snugly against his hips and comfortable flip-flops graced his feet. Strong hands had eloped with his jean pockets, and a slow grin spread out across his classically handsome features. His short brown hair was spiked forward in the front in a boyish way; his gray eyes alight with the warmth of life and happiness. Unlike her sister, Helena had not ruined all the many pictures she had of the man. Instead, she kept the pictures together in a lockbox, sealed away until her heart was too full of yearning and she had to pour over the images. Helena liked this one best because he was not in his standard uniform. This was before he joined BSAA and followed Chris Redfield. It was back when he was Piers Nivans and she was CSI agent Helena Harper. There were no zombie infestations, no hidden evil and absolutely nothing that would tear them apart.

But, everything had been taken from her. The man she thought she would never lose had been ripped away and her happiness had gone with him. She had lost both her sister and the man she loved more than anything in the world all in the same breath. It had been a long twelve months since then, and the restless ache stirring in her chest was not something that truly went away. It simmered deep in her bones, waiting until a haunting memory burst into her mind, crushing her composure and her heart at once. Her breath came in staccato, hurried gasps; she quickly shoved the frame back down. She fell onto her bed, eyes staring vacantly forward as the images came unbidden to her mind. Memories of how it all started faded in out of her subconscious, playing in her mind like a video set on play. She had already lived through it once; could she do it again?


End file.
